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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390611">Sentiments of Great and Indefinite Scale</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintly/pseuds/Mintly'>Mintly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Alcohol, Banter, Crowley Hates Rain But Not Aziraphale, Didn't Know They Were Dating, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, He rather likes him actually, Humor, Idiots Flirting at Inopportune Moments, Local Demon Yells at Clouds, Love Confession Gone Awry, M/M, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), The Arrangement (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:54:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintly/pseuds/Mintly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley likes Aziraphale. He really, really likes him. It's terrible. He can't help it if his one friend is an angel, but also a bastard, and that he really wants to hold his hand and run his fingers the feather-soft curls of his hair and kiss him until he's breathless. It's not his fault that Aziraphale is entirely irresistible. Crowley finds any excuse to pull him closer, and Aziraphale, most of the time, lets him. Isn't friendship amazing?</p><p>Six thousand years of dates and Crowley misses the memo.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>161</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Prologue of Eden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>We've got some big time idiot shenanigans in this one, folks. I love when they're idiots.</p><p>Starting on my goal of posting more and having fun with it in 2021 just a few days early.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Eden, 4004 B.C.</strong>
</p><p>"Perhaps some walnuts? They'll keep well, at least. Better than the oranges. Oh, but how will they shell them?"</p><p>"Seems to me the pair of them are plenty clever. They'll work it out."</p><p>The angel's wings, washed grey with rainwater, fluttered nervously. "Oh, you're probably right."</p><p>The storm over Eden hadn't abated in the hours since Adam and Eve departed, to Crowley's dismay. Rain fell in great sheets, thundering against the forest's canopy and pooling into the verdant valleys of the garden. Underneath the tall trees, the deluge was not as constant as it had been up on the wall, but the water already rippled around Crawley's feet, and soon it would reach his ankles. With no place for the floodwater to escape, Eden was drowning inside its walls.</p><p>And the one angel who had thought to stay was making a care package.</p><p>Crawley watched as Aziraphale gathered walnuts from the branches, dropping them into the improvised basket of his robe. The fabric was bundled around the last riches of Eden—perfectly plump berries and ruby red cherries and absolutely no apples. Crawley was only a little disappointed.</p><p>Aziraphale stole a cherry for himself. "I just worry for them out there on their own. There's hardly any food for miles, and you know how Eve loved her fruits."</p><p>"That I do."</p><p>Aziraphale glared at Crawley, though he was hardly intimidating with his hair flattened to his head and neck and his wings in wet disarray. He looked like a damp chicken. Crawley grinned, the snake in him delighting.</p><p>"And you don't think there's anything odd about gifting the humans the fruit of God's perfect little garden? The garden they were just exiled from?"</p><p>If asked, that was how Crawley was going to justify this to management. It was important to have a plan.</p><p>Crawley plucked a pear from a low-hanging branch to add to his own robe. After a moment of thought, he snuck a couple more. Aziraphale had admitted a fondness for pears when they first spotted the tree.</p><p>"The least I can do," Aziraphale continued, blatantly ignoring Crawley's question, "is bring them something nice. Considering they can't return and all, poor things."</p><p>"How kind."</p><p>Crawley said it mockingly, but Aziraphale really was kind, he realized. In a fun, God-defying way. First the flaming sword, now the fruit, and there was the added bonus of not smiting Crawley on the spot. Even after the whole apple business. Crawley was particularly curious, not to mention begrudgingly grateful, about that. </p><p>"Here," Crawley said, dumping his haul in with Aziraphale's. "'S best you take it. I don't think Eve'd be too happy to see me at the moment."</p><p>"Thank you." Aziraphale inspected the fruit, turning a pear in his palm. Rainwater ran off the fruit's delicate skin and into Aziraphale's sleeves as Crawley tracked its journey. </p><p>Aziraphale eyes flickered to Crawley, looking up through his lashes, wet and beaded with fine droplets of mist. </p><p>"Her loss, I suppose. You're not bad company, you know."</p><p>An alarming feeling of warmth surged in Crawley's cold-blooded chest. It spread all through his body, into his neck and up to redden his cheeks, and then all down into his fingertips. His heart pounded wildly, but it wasn't so bad. As a demon, feelings of fondness were disgusting, a little bit icky, to have for anyone or anything. But also kind of nice, Crawley admitted privately. </p><p>He actually liked this angel, didn't he? </p><p>He shoved that thought into a box as far back in his mind as he could manage and hoped it wouldn't leak.</p><p>"Oh, I think you'll find I'm the worssst," Crawley said, biting back the <em>likewise</em> at the tip of his suddenly forked tongue.</p><p>Aziraphale smiled brilliantly like he heard it anyway.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Snakes on Another Sort of Vessel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Many thanks to my dear friend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anti_kate">Anti_kate</a> for finding all my nonsense before I posted this. ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Mesopotamia, 3004 B.C.</strong>
</p><p>It was going to rain again.</p><p>Crawley was not overly fond of the rain in general. He was a snake, after all, and the cold followed the damp, and the cold seemed to work its way down to his bones and rattle into them a persistent ache. He had hoped that all this work around the desert would help him escape the pain, but it seemed Heaven had other plans. Typical.</p><p>When Crawley smelt the singe of ozone in the clouds overhead, stronger than usual and crackling with celestial power, he knew he had to find a way into that great big boat of Noah’s to ride out the storm, or he’d end up suffering worse than a few aching joints.</p><p>Crawley found the angel there, near the base of the long wooden ramp, counting the animals boarding the ship and writing on a sort of clay tablet.</p><p>"Aziraphale—"</p><p>Aziraphale jolted, dropping both the tablet and stylus onto the ground with a clatter.</p><p>"Oh, Crawley, I say! Do you really have to sneak up on me like that? A simple hello would do!"</p><p>"I say," Crawley mimicked, unable to resist. "Listen, Aziraphale—"</p><p>"—And don’t think I’ll stand for you threatening this assignment of mine with any of your typical wiles. It’s very high-profile, I’ll have you know."</p><p>"Yes, right. No wiles. Sure thing. Hey, Aziraphale, listen. I need aboard your little boat here."</p><p>"Did you ignore everything I just said?"</p><p>Aziraphale stooped to retrieve his tablet. He regarded Crawley suspiciously as he dusted sand from its surface and inspected it for damage.</p><p>"Nope, heard you loud and clear. No temptations, wiles, or other assorted mischief, I promise. Demon’s honour."</p><p>Aziraphale arched one incredulous brow.</p><p>"Right, someone else’s honour then. Yours, if you like."</p><p>"I don’t think you can swear on someone else’s honour, Crawley. That’s rather beside the point."</p><p>The sky flashed with lightning. The clouds roiled, dark and heavy and menacing, tumbling ever closer. The hair on the back of Crawley’s neck stood on end as the rumble of thunder shook inside his torso, sounding like the tumult of Heaven at war. Fear sizzled up Crawley's spine in a way he didn’t care for one bit, not that he'd ever admit it. Urgency lit a fire under him.</p><p>"We can argue semantics on the boat." The amber of Crawley's eyes spread over his sclera. He'd only just learned how to control that. How embarrassing. "Don't make me beg, angel. You'd feel weird about it later."</p><p>A first fat raindrop fell from the sky. It splashed onto Aziraphale's forehead and slid down the slant of his nose. Crawley leapt back, almost stumbling over his own sandalled feet.</p><p>Aziraphale wiped the droplet from his face and felt the holiness swimming in its cool clarity. Crawley watched as his eyes widened in understanding.</p><p>"Oh dear," Aziraphale said. Then, much louder, to Crawley's immediate horror, "Oh dear! It seems this snake is terribly lost and has slithered its way off the ark!"</p><p>Aziraphale stared at Crawley expectantly, panic evident in the depth of his storm grey eyes.</p><p>"Oh Satan."</p><p>Crawley reached into the essence of himself and found the snake there to wrap himself in its skin. His corporation twisted and pulled and suddenly he was a black and red snake, small enough to be reasonable without hurting his ego too much.</p><p>Lightning blinded Crawley suddenly, and thunder immediately boomed, just overhead, bone-shaking in its intensity and howling with the wrath of God. Crawley coiled tighter around himself.</p><p>"I will, uh, have to take him—it—inside personally to ensure this doesn't happen again! You—you rascally snake, you!"</p><p>Aziraphale tucked his tablet into his tunic. Then, suddenly, horrifyingly, he scooped Crawley from the sand and shoved him in too. </p><p>The angry sky trembled with holy water. Aziraphale's stylus jabbed in between one of Crawley's many, many ribs. Crawley was afraid, and manhandled, and already embarrassed to have asked an angel for a favour. It was all quite a lot for his reptilian brain to handle. </p><p>But the angel's bare chest was warm, and lightly furred, and quite soft. Crawley wrapped his tail around his torso and scented the air, catching a spot of skin in the flick of his serpentine tongue. Aziraphale wiggled.</p><p>"Ooh! That tickles."</p><p>Aziraphale smell-tasted of ozone, too, angel that he was. But the smell was muted behind the salt of his skin and the strange human muskiness that came from having a body and really living in it. Crawley could also smell the thick, earthy clay of his tablet and some lingering scent of ripe fruit, perhaps that Aziraphale had for lunch, clinging to his fingertips even for hours after. </p><p>For some reason, Crawley found himself comforted.</p><p>"Right, in I go! To return this wayward snake! We cannot leave even one of God's precious creatures behind!" </p><p>"Terrific," Crawley said, resigned and muffled through the linen of Aziraphale's tunic. </p><p>"And, angel, for the love of everything unholy, stay away from amateur theatre."</p>
<hr/><p>For the first few days, Crawley slithered off into the bowels of the ship, trying to ignore the tossing of the waves and the ever-raging storm. Even a single drop of the heaven-sent water would destroy him, and an entire sea of it was going to fall for weeks and weeks. He wasn't going anywhere near the deck. Not to mention the constant rocking of the ark turned his stomach and the whole place reeked of animals and angelic magic. It made him sneeze and put him in a foul mood.</p><p>He tucked himself between barrels of thick Mesopotamian beer, which he helped himself to as he desired. He had as much right to it, if not more, than the humans on board. It helped with the allergies and the aching and the nausea and the self-pity curling in his snakey gut. Corporations, reptilian or no, were such hassles.</p><p>If, before the storm arrived, he hadn’t been distracted by the fun of the city—the bathhouses and the gambling and the mayhem he could cause by knocking over a single cart in a crowded market—he might’ve done the smart thing and fled to the other side of the world at the first whiff of celestial interference. But then he saw the big bloody boat on the mountain and Aziraphale fretting over it and went over to chat with him. Or, er, gather intel about the angel’s habits and the enemy’s plans. Crawley made a mental note to include that in his next report.</p><p>Now he was in incredibly hot water. So to speak. He didn’t quite beg Aziraphale, but he would have, which was almost as bad. And then he was carried about like he was an actual snake, which was very demeaning, even as well-intended as it was, Crawley felt. He coiled forlornly into his corner, finally alone and away from all the nosy animals he’d had to scare off.</p><p>But he couldn’t avoid the angel forever, not on such a small ark for so long a time. And definitely not while in his debt.</p><p>"So I owe you," Crawley said, materializing as a human from the inky darkness. </p><p>He’d sniffed out the cabin Aziraphale had claimed for himself. The angel sat at a desk with a precarious stack of tablets. There was also another chair, a little table, and an unused bed. The small room was lit by a single bright candle, and though wax pooled at the base, it had not grown shorter. Aziraphale didn't look surprised to see him.</p><p>"Please don't mention it," Aziraphale said.</p><p>Crawley bristled. "It's not like I want to be beholden to an angel."</p><p>"Then as a favour to me, don't mention it. I could get in enough trouble as it is. Rescuing a demon when clearly the Almighty meant to purge the valley of evil." Aziraphale looked suddenly quite ill, pale around the gills and with a pinched look on his face, like he'd eaten one too many stuffed dates.</p><p>"Rescue is a strong word," Crawley muttered. "Subjected to your poor acting, more like."</p><p>"The plan went over perfectly well. No one suspected a thing."</p><p>"There was no one around, angel."</p><p>"We never know who might be watching! Perhaps if I had more time to rehearse I would have given a better performance. But someone waited until the last minute to show. These things take time to perfect, you know!" </p><p>Aziraphale huffed in annoyance, but the twist of unease had slipped from features. Crawley felt inordinately pleased.</p><p>"I wouldn't worry too much anyway," Crawley said, after a beat. It slipped off his tongue entirely without his permission, which was mildly alarming. Why did he so badly want to placate this angel? "One could argue that you can keep a better eye on me here than if I had fucked off to China or America or Antarctica. Never know what kind of mischief the penguins and I would've gotten into."</p><p>Aziraphale tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Keep your enemies close, as they say."</p><p>"Exactly! See, you get it. I knew you were clever."</p><p>Crawley flopped onto the simple wooden bed topped with a wool-stuffed mattress. With a snap, Crawley added half a dozen feather pillows. Black, of course.</p><p>"Make yourself at home," Aziraphale said flatly.</p><p>"I will, thanks." </p><p>Crawley settled into his new throne of down and linen. Aziraphale was oddly quiet. Crawley glanced over to see him fiddling with his signet ring.</p><p>"In the interest of knowing my enemy's whereabouts, then, what mischief have you been inspiring these last few days?" Aziraphale asked, carefully neutral. Almost shy.</p><p>"Nothing so nefarious as all that," Crawley said cautiously. "Mostly I was avoiding being stomped on by that wretched pair of horses and making the most of what passes for beer on this vessel."</p><p>"That wasn't for you, Crawley!"</p><p>"It was purely medicinal, I swear! This bloody ark is drafty and cold and it's raining holy fucking tears outside and then with all the <em>rocking</em>. Urgh."</p><p>"Mmm. For once I agree with you."</p><p>For the first time, Crawley noticed the deep, weary circles under Aziraphale's eyes, the look of wooziness about him. Even the curls of his hair looked sickly and wilted in the weak glow of candlelight. Crawley didn't like it.</p><p>"Well, how about it then?" Aziraphale asked.</p><p>"Hmm?" </p><p>"If you've already snuck into the alcohol, I expect the least you can do is share."</p><p>Aziraphale had the funniest little smile on his face, all curled up in amusement like he was about to do something naughty. A slow smile stretched Crawley's lips of its own accord.</p><p>"That I can do."</p>
<hr/><p>Being drunk around Aziraphale should have been disconcerting. Letting down his defences around an angel should be a terrifying prospect, as dangerous as a lightning storm or the crisp bite of an apple or the low whisper of temptation to do something impossibly, thrillingly reckless. Which, Crawley thought through the haze of drunkenness, this moment rather was. But it was nice. Great, even.</p><p>It must've been very late at night—it was almost impossible to tell the time below deck, except for the growing cold that slipped inescapably into every light-forgotten crevice.</p><p>Aziraphale had joined him on the mattress at some point, though he sat a distance away, leant against the wooden walls of the ark's cabin, smiling ridiculously. An entire mountain range of pillows rose between them.</p><p>Crawley's headscarf had gotten lost somewhere in the mess of pillows and blankets. He kept acquiring more of them somehow. He typically preferred dark fabrics of fine, quality weave, but he had ended up with a thick woolen blanket around his thin shoulders. It was dyed an unfortunate shade of beige, but it did stop his shivering from the cold.</p><p>As the beer barrel steadily emptied, the golden glow of Aziraphale's halo became more apparent against the gloom. The halo was a glittering thing, with drops of sunlight hung like dewdrops along the strand of his celestial energy. The candlelight flickered dizzily with it, dripping light soft like honey along the creaking wood of the cabin and then scattering, sparkling like stars in the halo's reflection. Shadows darted into all the places light couldn't reach as it writhed, back and forth in a dance as old as the Earth itself, or even older.</p><p>Crawley felt closer to Heaven than he had since he Fell, but it was only the good parts here. </p><p>Aziraphale was enchanting and riotously funny. Crawley kept smiling into his cup, mediocre as the beer was, with Aziraphale's every word. He had many of them to share.</p><p>"—'N then Gabriel said 'oh yes, this'll look exemplenatory on your centennial review.' Exem-exemplenary. Exemplenany? Exemmm-something. Very good."</p><p>"Right." Crawley squinted in concentration.</p><p>"And then he forgot to mention I'd have to round up all these animals! From all over! 'S not so easy, let me tell you. Have you ever tried to wrestle a monkey from a tree?" Aziraphale pointed a dramatic finger at Crawley. The clay cup in his hand tilted precariously with it. The drink inside trembled at its lip, ready to fall.</p><p>"Ah, er, no."</p><p>"Well, don't. It's no fun at all. And they laugh at you if you fall out." Aziraphale snatched his drink upright, before any liquid could spill to the floor.</p><p>"I can honestly say I'm sorry I missed it," Crawley said, biting back his laughter.</p><p>"I think," Aziraphale said, quite seriously. "Gabriel just didn't want to do the assignment. Handed it off to me. Delegating, he'd say. But really he doesn't much like being on Earth. He thinks it messy."</p><p>"Well it is, isn't it? All kinds of mess here. Dirt and rain and shit and emotions everywhere."</p><p>"Yes, yes of course, but it's good, don't you think? It's part of the charm."</p><p>"Says the angel whose hem is always miraculously clean."</p><p>"I'm an angel! A muddy hem isn't exactly a heavenly look, you know."</p><p>"Sure," agreed Crawley, who had never let his clothing be anything but immaculate if he could help it. He knew all about image.</p><p>"Though it's funny how you had to round up two of 'em all," Crawley said, circling back easy as the tide. "Double the work, innit? Lotta extra work just in case one kicks the bucket."</p><p>Aziraphale's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Kick the bucket?"</p><p>"Y'know. Pushing up daisies. Snuffing it. Biting the dust. Finding the end of one's mortal thread."</p><p>"Wherever d'you hear these things?"</p><p>Crawley shrugged. He sunk deeper into the downy softness of the bedding surrounding him, nearly up to his ears now. He could see the white of Aziraphale's hair reflected gold in his own glow. Crawley found himself enamored with the gentle curl of it, pulled erratic and untidy by Aziraphale's drunken hands.</p><p>"But ah, that's not really. That's not why there's two—"</p><p>Crawley sat up and reached for him, taken suddenly by the urge to touch those curls. They were as he'd imagined. Smooth like fine silk, soft like the way clouds looked without the terribly disappointing reality of ice crystals and nary a single resting place for a nice nap. Aziraphale’s hair was all dreamy softness.</p><p>"Crawley, what are you doing?" Aziraphale asked in a tremulous voice. </p><p>"'S soft," Crawley said, unable and, truthfully, unwilling to put to words how he felt.</p><p>He sat back again, suddenly self-conscious under the confused and startled gaze Aziraphale had turned on him. He felt all squiggly inside. More than usual.</p><p>Maybe words would be easier, after all.</p><p>"Just it's funny for things to come in pairs like this," he explained, heart beating so fast his hands shook. The mystery of these corporations continued. He placed his cup onto the table. "It's like you and I, don't you think?"</p><p>He braved a glance at Aziraphale. He looked struck, caught vulnerable like a deer in headlights, whatever those were. Crawley watched as a flush spread like ink in water over Aziraphale, over his neck and jaw to pool red and warm in his cheeks. </p><p>Something about it was intoxicating. As much as the beer, maybe more so.</p><p>"Th—that’s not similar at all!"</p><p>"Is it not?"</p><p>"No! It’s not!" Aziraphale said in a rush. He clutched a pillow between them, hard enough Crawley thought the feathers might tear free. "We’re enemies! Barely even friendly. We’re not a <em>pair</em>, as you say."</p><p>"We’re plenty friendly," Crawley said. He motioned between them, to the shared barrel, the shared bed. He lifted his drink, reminding Aziraphale of their three-cups-deep toast to their eventual escape from this wretched, smelly ship together.</p><p>"Perhaps we are, but it’s not about friendship, Crawley," Aziraphale said, quite worked up and still red as a flame. "I—it’s about compatibility. About family. About love. Nothing you could know about. Not very demonic, is it?"</p><p>Crawley grit his teeth, bit back a hiss at the sudden pain in his chest. He wasn’t sure why it stung, why his words tasted so deeply of rejection. </p><p>Aziraphale had all but said they were friends, after all this time, which was new. It should have been affirming. And the angel wasn’t wrong either. Such sentiments were outside a demon’s purview. </p><p>Crawley missed the earlier warmth in his chest at Aziraphale’s proximity. He mentally catalogued the texture of angel hair, the look of Aziraphale’s cheeks, pink and startled, and gave up the rest of the night as a bad job. He sunk into his enormous pile of bedding until he could no longer see Aziraphale's halo spilling golden warmth everywhere the light touched. </p><p>He shut his eyes tight as he felt the ark lurch suddenly beneath them. The feeling was growing familiar.</p><p>"You’re right," Crawley said. "I wouldn’t know anything about that."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Matter of Discretion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Excuses, excuses. Aziraphale loved excuses.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Many thanks to my dear friends <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiddz">Squiddz</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcylindbergh/works">Darcy</a> for the encouragement and help with this one!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Rome, 41 A.D.</strong>
</p><p>Rome was chock-full of sin. Utterly dripping in it. Now, Crowley was a big proponent of sin. Loved the stuff. Sin was a demon's bread and butter. Usually Crowley enjoyed being up to his incredibly bony elbows in humanity's most scandalous foibles, but even he had his limits. As far as Crowley was concerned, this decade was going straight in the bin.</p><p>Crowley raised his empty cup to call for another refill, wiggling it impatiently. The server gave him such a disdainful look that Crowley was almost proud. He'd invented that look.</p><p>For a long time, the Romans were lots of fun. He loved the decadence of it all, the wine and the art and the drama—begrudgingly, at first, having been dragged to many a performance by Earth's single most thespian angel. He was only so by proxy of being the only angel to ever enjoy a play in the first place, rather than the possession of any actual acting skills. Crowley had a sneaking suspicion the whole lot of feathered pricks would love musical theater when it caught on, however. </p><p>Crowley was also absolutely tickled by all the political backstabbing; it was often as wild and entertaining as the theatre. It really was hilarious how deep a sinful hole the humans dug for themselves without Crowley even needing to lift a finger.</p><p>Unfortunately humanity also had a tendency of going too far, tripping from trifling annoyances and petty disagreements and sliding into full-blown cruelties too gruesome even to a demon like Crowley. His coworkers wouldn't agree—the more horrific, the better in their maggot-addled minds. Crowley just didn't have the stomach for blood and torture. And, anyway, his coworkers weren't any fun at parties, so what did they know?</p><p>Either way, Caligula was markedly evil without demonic guidance, and he deserved to go to Hell sooner rather than later, in Crowley's opinion. Crowley’s work was done for him by the time he set foot in Rome. Plus, the locals were fond of regicide, and it looked to be headed that way. Hopefully soon they'd do Crowley the favour, and then he could fuck off and take a holiday somewhere slightly more peaceful, preferably with a beach and fewer horrific, unmentionable atrocities. </p><p>In sum, Crowley was in a bad mood.</p><p>The server slammed a pitcher onto the counter, the liquid sloshing alarmingly up the sides. Crowley had just about settled in for a night of unpleasant drink and more unpleasant anxieties about the state of his work when he heard Aziraphale’s voice.</p><p>“Crawley—Crowley!”</p><p>A weight fell from Crowley’s shoulders. The knots of stress strangling his chest loosened. It was instantaneous. Crowley blinked behind the smoky quartz of his lenses. It was very unlike himself, blinking. </p><p>Several years had passed since he and Aziraphale had stumbled into each other, but that was quite recent in the scope of their friendship. Sometimes it would be much longer until both of their assignments overlapped. In Golgotha, Crowley had left Aziraphale with information about where his next station would be, but he still hadn’t received any letters. Crowley told himself he wasn’t disappointed.</p><p>“—I hear he does remarkable things to oysters.”</p><p>“I’ve never eaten an oyster,” Crowley said, his mind racing. Not that he particularly wanted to eat an oyster, but if Aziraphale was leaving, he wanted to go with him. He hadn’t gotten to complain about the lack of correspondence or decent alcohol just yet.</p><p>“Oh, well, let me tempt you to—”</p><p>Crowley’s eyebrows shot into the stratosphere. He leant back in his seat. Just let that one hang.</p><p>“Oh no. No, that’s—that’s your job isn’t it?” Aziraphale said, reddening in the way Crowley had really taken a liking to. A warm pink spread in his cheeks and bloomed red around the arc of his ears. But Aziraphale looked oddly pleased, as if he hadn’t made a bit of a faux pas. Coy.</p><p>He wanted Crowley to invite himself along.</p><p>Excitement shocked its way through Crowley's veins, lit him up like the electricity humans hadn’t yet harnessed. His mouth was suddenly dry. He took the bait.</p><p>“Let me tempt you to lunch, angel."</p><p>“No,” Aziraphale said sternly. His mouth was a thin, unwavering line, but the mischief of his most secretive smile danced in his eyes. “I won’t be tempted, you fiend.” </p><p>“Wha—”</p><p>Aziraphale laughed and dropped his hand onto Crowley’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. His thumb smoothed over the fabric of his toga, just once. Lingered near Crowley’s neck, at the jut of his clavicle. </p><p>“But do come along for dinner. I could do with some decent conversation tonight.”</p><p>“Right, yeah,” Crowley said, entirely distracted. Aziraphale's thumb was still on him. “I’ll be there.”</p>
<hr/><p>As dinnertime approached, Crowley sauntered through the bustling streets of Rome toward Petronius's restaurant, feeling much lighter and incredibly, insatiably curious.</p><p>Aziraphale continued to surprise him—before today, Aziraphale had never invited Crowley anywhere. Never so clearly. He always left it up to Crowley to appear and lead him onto some adventure, always with an excuse of politeness or thwarting on the tip of his tongue. But despite the dance of justifying their rendezvouses and the impatient stretches of time before assignments brought them to the same area, Crowley couldn't regret any of it. Their friendship was built on those excuses. These oysters must really be something.</p><p>The sky was thick with the grey clouds of a Mediterranean shower, backlit by the waning evening sun. The rain itself was a mist, hazy in the air and unseasonably warm, while the ground shimmered, reflecting the sky back its cloud-muted blue. Water slipped down rooflines to drip slowly into flowerbeds. Droplets gathered on the blossoms like tears, wet and begging to be swiped with a gentle thumb from the turn of delicate petals, unbruised.</p><p>Crowley slipped inside the restaurant, and the smell of food and the din of a hundred conversations instantly buzzed around him. He quickly brushed the rain from his toga and his short hair as he scanned the room for his friend.</p><p>Aziraphale was toward the back, tucked into a corner of the room surrounded by a myriad of colorful cushions despite being the only person at the table. He did like to be comfortable. He was also, Crowley noted with gritted teeth, waving frantically for his attention.</p><p>"Angel, could you maybe try to be a little less ridiculous for once?" Crowley asked on approach.</p><p>"Hello, Crowley." Aziraphale stood to greet him, and suddenly he was very close. It all happened very quickly.</p><p>Aziraphale took hold of Crowley's forearm and gently tugged them together. His face was mere inches away, and something like panic jolted through Crowley's corporation. It was probably a demonic response to such proximity of an enemy, Crowley thought wildly, hysterically, as Aziraphale brought his lips to Crowley's cheek. His brain abruptly short-circuited. </p><p>Aziraphale’s lips were dry, but smooth and soft. Except for the sharp blade of his wit, everything about Aziraphale was soft, Crowley was discovering. Maybe he moisturised.</p><p>"Nnnrggh?” Crowley asked.</p><p>The kiss lasted only a split second, but the soft sound of lips against his cheek as Aziraphale pulled back echoed in the empty basin Crowley now called his skull.</p><p>Aziraphale took a step back, releasing his hold on Crowley's arm. Crowley stared blankly over the glasses slipping down the crooked line of his nose. Aziraphale fidgeted.</p><p>"Oh, ah, well, it's the custom here to greet your—your—" Aziraphale stopped. Cleared his throat. "—to greet this way. Sometimes. I suppose I got carried away or misunderstood. I apologise if I overstepped so soon. Oh dear."</p><p>"No! Uh no, hrrgh. Nope, no overstepping here," Crowley said, desperately grabbing onto his scattered thoughts and shaking them into something resembling Latin. </p><p>Aziraphale still looked concerned. The pinch in his brow was not uncommon on his angelic visage, but it was absolutely intolerable when it was Crowley's fault.</p><p>He stumbled to explain. "Just took me by surprise, is all. It was nice. Fuck, not nice. Fantastic. Wait, er, acceptable. Yeah."</p><p>There was no way Aziraphale would let him live that down. His suspicions were confirmed as the angel bit his lip in amusement.</p><p>"Fantastic?"</p><p>"No. Acceptable, I said."</p><p>Aziraphale hummed in agreement and settled back onto the cushions at the table. Crowley prickled with embarrassment as he slipped over to the opposite side.</p><p>"So, what's good here, Aziraphale? Did you want to start with the oysters? Or something else?" Crowley scanned the room for a posted menu or a server to flag down or someone to trip with a conveniently miracled banana peel. Anything, really.</p><p>"The oysters to start for certain. You simply must try them. And wine, too, of course. But I'm told the fish is <em>fantastic</em> here as well."</p><p>"I don't have to put up with this," Crowley said, putting up with it.</p><p>"The door is over there," Aziraphale said, inclining his head, self-assured in the infuriating way of someone who knew he'd already won.</p><p>Crowley didn't move, nor did Aziraphale. </p><p>Aziraphale's smug face grew smugger still. Crowley was going to slap him. Or something. The indignity! He was a demon for Hell's sake!</p><p>Aziraphale was in rare form. It was horrible. But Crowley, mortifyingly, kind of liked it. Aziraphale could win an Olympic medal for embarrassing demons. Crowley should hate it, but something about it being Aziraphale who did it made the whole thing tolerable. More than. He liked arguing with someone willing to give as good as he got. He liked the back and forth, the devious expression on Aziraphale's cherubic features, and the way he could let down his guard a little and feel something that wasn't strictly Hell-approved. Crowley wasn't certain he was supposed to experience embarrassment at all, let alone enjoy it in the company of an angel.</p><p>"So how do you find Rome?" Crowley asked, leaning an elbow onto the low table and tilting forward onto it, pulled closer to Aziraphale as if magnetized.</p><p>Aziraphale launched into the details of his work in the city, which from what Crowley could tell involved a lot of reading and occasionally trying to teach a young boy the joys of music. And in between, quite a lot of socializing and gossiping. Evidently one heard quite a lot while working for the wealthiest Romans.</p><p>"Gossiping is a terrible habit," Aziraphale said, between tales, "but is it not my duty to listen to the humans to better understand their plight?”</p><p>“Sounds like an excuse to gossip,” Crowley said. He earned a prim sniff for his effort.</p><p>Aziraphale kept smiling. Crowley was grateful for his new spectacles so that he wouldn’t be entirely blinded. He was admittedly still a little dazzled.</p><p>The food and drink was ordered. Each plate was as well-balanced and satisfying as the last, as expected in a place that met Aziraphale’s standards.</p><p>“The dish needn’t be complex or fancy to earn appreciation, mind,” Aziraphale told Crowley. “There is a simple delight in the enjoyment, don’t you think?”</p><p>Crowley wondered if that delight translated to other portions of his life—his clothing, his reading. His company. </p><p>With Aziraphale, things were easier. Crowley felt acknowledged and understood, despite their differences in philosophy. They disagreed on nearly everything except what constituted fine wine, art, and the joy of arguing, all of which they partook in as frequently as they were able. It was great fun.</p><p>Crowley had been so upset earlier, embittered and disgusted with the worst Hell and humanity had to offer. He felt lighter, now, even though he'd have to return to the foul mess of Roman politics tomorrow. Aziraphale was a buoy, a lifeline in the raging ocean storm of his existence. A friend even in the harshest weather. Crowley couldn’t help but relax, reclining with a posture a fully human spine would not have tolerated.</p><p>A rare indulgence of lemon—tasting suspiciously of lingering celestial energy—was squeezed over the pale flesh of the oysters, exposed in their half shells. The air was fragrant with sea and citrus, sharp and sweet and salted. Crowley, who was not much for eating in general, slowly nibbled his way through a cut of warm, crusted bread in the first portion of the meal. He knocked back an oyster or two and nudged the rest toward Aziraphale, who had already eaten his share.</p><p>“Oh I couldn’t possibly,” Aziraphale said, lifting another shell from the plate. </p><p>The meat of the oyster trembled as he brought it to his lips. Crowley watched him and found he couldn’t look away.</p><p>“Enjoying yourself?”</p><p>“Immensely,” Aziraphale said. He delicately placed the empty shell onto the platter. Picked up his cup. Placed it down again without taking a sip. </p><p>"Thank you for accepting my invitation, Crowley. It’s. Hmm. I wanted to talk to you about something a bit delicate, and a letter wouldn’t do. I've rather wanted to do this for quite some time."</p><p>"Oh? You wanted to see little old me?"</p><p>“Well, yes.” Aziraphale fluttered his hands nervously. Crowley warmed, despite his better judgement. He might have to forgive Aziraphale for not writing at this rate. Damn. </p><p>“You see, Heaven is very pleased with my recent involvement with the Almighty's son. I do believe they've given me a bit of a reprieve from their attention, so to speak. At least judging by the reduced frequency of Michael's Angelic Resource Utilization Reports, as I've hardly changed my own habits."</p><p>"Sounds like a light read."</p><p>"It's all in the service of Heaven and the greater good, I know, but they really are quite nosy." Aziraphale sighed.</p><p>"Eh." Crowley inclined his head. "I can't say Hell's much different. The bosses love their paperwork. Dagon a bit too much, if you want my opinion. But it’s not like they're tracking my every miracle like your bosses do yours. Efficiency isn’t Hell’s strong suit."</p><p>"I find it quite tedious. If my work is done, why should it matter if I ripened a pear out of season?"</p><p>Crowley thought of the Garden, of the rain-kissed pears he’d gifted Aziraphale from the cradle of Eden’s bounty. They’d had no reason to be in each other’s company, but, itching from both his soaked robes and his own infatigable curiosity, Crowley had stayed. He thought of the tentative smile he’d received then, even when he hardly deserved it.</p><p>"You do like pears," Crowley said.</p><p>Aziraphale paused, derailed from his complaints. Maybe Aziraphale was remembering too, thinking of green boughs heavy with fruit and the giving rain.</p><p>"I do," Aziraphale said warmly, and Crowley knew he was.</p><p>They smiled at each other, a little ridiculously, and Crowley absolutely blamed the wine, despite the fact that it usually took quite a few more glasses to make him this loose around his considerable edges. But why else would he feel so light? So warm in his chest? Must’ve been some strong stuff.</p><p>Crowley suddenly remembered Aziraphale had wanted to say something.</p><p>“What? Oh, right.” Aziraphale cleared his throat and cast his eyes downward. His smile faded, and already Crowley started to miss it. “Ah, well. Hmm. All of this to say that I have a bit of freedom at the moment. I was in the market yesterday afternoon, surrounded by all the lovely sounds and smells, and I had the most delightful spiced bread that reminded me very much of our time in Thebes. Do you remember?"</p><p>"Wasn't that the time you argued with that merchant until we were nearly thrown from—"</p><p>"Yes, yes that time," Aziraphale interrupted quickly. He took a deep, steadying breath and pushed forward. "Anyway, I turned to tell someone the story, but I couldn't. I could hardly share; it took place over a thousand years ago. No human could know of it, not with the timescale. Customs had changed since then. And when I thought of the other angels, well. They hardly know what it's like on Earth. They wouldn't understand. As it turns out, no one would, or at least, no one but you. </p><p>"Ridiculous though it sounds, I simply wanted you to be there. In the middle of that market I realized what I really wanted, strictly on a personal level, was just to see you. To be with you." </p><p>Aziraphale <em>had </em>sought Crowley out. By choice. And he said so. Finally Aziraphale was acknowledging their friendship! </p><p>Aziraphale looked up, nervousness written into every wrinkle along his brow. Whatever Aziraphale saw on Crowley's face must have encouraged him, because that coy smile of his made a debilitating reappearance.</p><p>Crowley found himself experiencing the sudden onset of angel induced heart arrhythmia. Maybe his corporation needed repair due to repeated exposure to Aziraphale's holy energy. That seemed possible. He’d have to work on that. Crowley vowed never to reveal his new weakness.</p><p>“Gosh, angel. If you’re not careful, I’ll think you actually like me or something.”</p><p>Aziraphale had the audacity to actually giggle, an action which should be illegal given the trauma Crowley’s chest was enduring.</p><p>“I can't always be...forthright, we shall say, about what we are to each other, but please know I feel this way. I do. I was afraid of these thoughts before. I still am, to tell the truth. I know it will be difficult, but aren’t such things always?” Aziraphale said. “It seems so in all the stories. I can’t help but draw parallels between us and those tales on account of our, ah, differences.”</p><p>“On account of my still being a demon instead of an aardvark, you mean?” </p><p>"Yes, just that little detail."</p><p>"We could get into a lot of trouble with head office if they knew."</p><p>“Precisely. So I think if we are to continue our—our relationship, we will need to be discreet.”</p><p>Aziraphale seemed particularly nervous. His eyes darted about the room, as if Gabriel himself might spring from behind a curtain or from under the toga of a neighboring patron, which admittedly Crowley would like to see. He followed Aziraphale’s gaze.</p><p>The room was full of humans, and only humans. Not another angel or demon in sight. In one front corner, however, Crowley noticed a table similar to their own tucked away, partially concealed by thin drapes billowing in the rain damp air swirling in through the open doors. Two men reclined close together, speaking in hushed voices and brushing ankles. They looked at no one but each other.</p><p>One man leaned in, pressing his lips to the other's cheek. The second man, laughing, tipped his head back, and their lips met instead. In Crowley's periphery, Aziraphale sucked in a breath and turned away. </p><p>Crowley didn't. He watched with interest as the pair separated from each other for one moment before coming together again, as if inexorably caught in a tidal pull.</p><p>Envy was not a sin Crowley had much personal experience with as an occult being who could conjure anything his heart desired with a thought. But oddly he felt it now, tugging sharply in chest. Was it the touch? Was it that easy intimacy of the moment those two shared? A closeness he so rarely experienced, and only in the rare company of his one friend—this angel he met with so infrequently and almost exclusively by coincidence?</p><p>"<em>Discreet</em>, Crowley," Aziraphale hissed uncomfortably.</p><p>Crowley tore his eyes from the two humans. Aziraphale’s eyes flit nervously between them.</p><p>"I can be discreet." Crowley would agree to nearly anything if it meant he could see Aziraphale more often. "I'm very discreet. Discreetest demon in Hell."</p><p>“Oh really?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"It's true! Nothing discreet about maggots, Aziraphale. Not sure why, but it's all worms and maggots with the other demons. Not me though. Don't care for them. Too...wiggly. And full of goo."</p><p>Crowley scrunched his nose. There was a reason he changed his name after all. Too squirming-at-your-feet-ish. It wasn’t flattering. Not to mention a terrible way to locomote in Crowley’s experience.</p><p>"Very wiggly," Aziraphale agreed unhappily. "Be that as it may, I must say I'd rather not discuss maggots further at a meal, if you don't mind."</p><p>"Right. Oops."</p><p>They both looked down at the remaining oysters and grimaced. In apology, Crowley tipped more wine into their cups. </p><p>Aziraphale took a deep drink followed by a deeper breath. </p><p>"I have been thinking quite a lot about our conversation on the ark. About the pair of us, you know. Two by two. It's a bit silly, but I do think you might have been right, if it's not too forward of me to say now."</p><p>Crowley blinked in surprise for an unprecedented second time in one evening. He’d pulled and twisted at that conversation on the ark in his mind for ages. Centuries. Had spun the memory around and around until it was threadbare and tattered. He never quite figured out where he'd gotten it wrong, what had upset Aziraphale so much that he'd lashed out so harshly. Time may have soothed over the hurt, softened his confusion into a reluctant acceptance, but he did often wonder.</p><p>They were all each other had on Earth; Crowley had always thought so. They were beings who knew one another better than anyone else in existence at this point. They were always finding each other in a way that Aziraphale might call <em>ineffable </em>and inevitably make Crowley gag. But somewhere in Crowley’s sulphur-drenched soul, he privately agreed. He and Aziraphale had always been pitted against each other as enemies and joined to each other as friends. Best friends, Crowley presumed, based on this conversation. Since the Beginning.</p><p>He’d never had any other friends, obviously, but he could hardly imagine wanting anyone else’s company the way he craved Aziraphale’s.</p><p>If all it took was time for Aziraphale to come to terms with their friendship, then so be it. At least Crowley hadn't lost Aziraphale's trust to the bluntness of his drunken musings on that bloody boat. They were immortal. They had all the time in the world, and then some. Crowley could do that. He could give Aziraphale time.</p><p>"It’s not too forward.” Crowley said. “I thought it then, and I think it now. So it's fine. Swell." </p><p>"Fantastic, one might say?” Aziraphale grinned.</p><p>"Ugh. No, fuck off. Swell rescinded. We're back to just fine." </p><p>The mortification itched at his skin, the back of his neck. He squirmed, thought better of it, and forced himself to sit still. Aziraphale was looking all together too pleased, and Crowley scowled back at him. He hated him. He would’ve rethought this whole best friend thing if he weren’t so pleased himself.</p><p>"The two of us, enemies and yet closer. Ineffable, isn't it?” Ugh, there was that word. Crowley’s heart gave a traitorous flutter. Aziraphale laughed, a little shyly. “We’re opposites in every way that counts, but you know what they say about that.”</p><p>Crowley did not know what they said. He had a thorough knowledge of a variety of anachronistic idioms, but this one eluded him. He opened his mouth to ask, but Aziraphale interrupted before he could.</p><p>"On the topic of being discreet, I wanted to clarify that this sort of rendezvous cannot happen often. Meeting with you for selfish reasons with Heaven and Hell watching is far too dangerous. I cannot justify risking either of us that way, as much as I'd like it to see you more often."</p><p>"You'd like to? Meet more often?" Crowley could hardly believe his ears. </p><p>"Er, yes. Was I unclear?” Aziraphale twisted his pinkie ring, around and around. Nervous, again. “Provided you feel the same way. Don't you?" </p><p>He actually had to say it, didn't he?</p><p>“Yeah," Crowley said, softer than intended. To make up for it, with more affected nonchalance, he slouched back into his seat. "Yeah, sure."</p><p>“I’m glad we’re in agreement.” Aziraphale smiled, somehow all the way in his eyes. </p><p>Crowley thought of the two men across the restaurant who only saw each other and glanced to Aziraphale’s grinning mouth, the white curve of his teeth peeking infuriatingly adorably between. Crowley sipped his wine and tried to swallow any pressing thoughts about indiscreet intimacy between hereditary enemies-turned-drinking-buddies-turned-best-friends.</p><p>In startling clarity, the loneliness of eternity stretched before Crowley. It was all the darkness between stars, yawning and impenetrably deep. But it was a night sky stuck with glowing pinpricks of Aziraphale's presence. His company was ambrosial. Addictive. It never felt like enough.</p><p>Crowley could see the rest of his Roman decade. After tonight, he and Aziraphale would have to part. Pretend they didn't know each other, like they weren't friends who broke bread over hundreds or thousands of tables across the continents. He’d have to deal with Caligula and the rest of the poisonous court, for as long as Hell forced him, without even a friend to complain to about his work. The outlook was bleak. Crowley hated it, but he wouldn’t disrespect Aziraphale’s wishes. Er, outright at least. </p><p>Before they could only meet by accident, supposedly. So Crowley had occasionally orchestrated accidents. Every so often, Crowley might have strained to hear talk of any particularly white-haired travellers. He might even have ensured that he would be in the right place at the right time to spot Aziraphale in a crowd. Aziraphale always seemed surprised, despite the size of Earth and the slim likelihood of meeting again and again.</p><p>Sometimes Crowley would stumble across Aziraphale and wonder if he had done the same thing, if perhaps his acting had improved after all. Crowley thought better than to compliment him on it. But the excuse of serendipity could only occur so often before it became suspicious.</p><p>Excuses, excuses. Aziraphale loved excuses.</p><p>“If we were to meet for another reason, would that work?” Crowley said.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“You said we couldn’t meet for selfish reasons. So what if we met for business, rather than pleasure?”</p><p>“Rather than—ah.” Something about that seemed to fluster Aziraphale. “Our work has little to do with each other, Crowley. Rather the opposite, in fact.”</p><p>“Oh, come off it. You know that’s not true. I wile, you thwart. Humanity is saved again by Creation’s own golden Principality Aziraphale.”</p><p>“I do have other work to do besides get in your way, you know. Heaven has its own work to be done. There’s a forty-eight billion point Great Plan to follow.”</p><p>“You have to keep track of all that? My directives aren’t half so specific.” Crowley was forever receiving hellfire-charred notes that read “secure a hundred souls and encite chaos or whatever” or “fuck with this human in particular”.</p><p>"I'm not privy to the document, Crowley. But it's upstairs somewhere, all written up, and we angels have to stick to it, you know. It's our duty."</p><p>"Sure, yeah. Don't stop doing your <em>heavenly duty</em> on my account, angel." Crowley rolled his eyes behind the privacy of his glasses, which grew more useful by the hour.</p><p>All this hoity-toity angel talk was going to give him hives. He liked Aziraphale, but he liked <em>him</em>, not his celestial virtues, of which presumably he had many. </p><p>Swallowing the last oyster, Aziraphale moved on to systematically licking his fingers clean of lemon juice. He was enraptured, the very picture of gluttony, his righteous indignation moments ago seemingly forgotten. Of Aziraphale's virtues, temperance was not his finest. Crowley was certain of that. </p><p>Crowley bit back a smile. He found Aziraphale's weaknesses hilarious and, against his better judgement, charming. Not that he'd ever tell Aziraphale.</p><p>If Crowley were a proper demon, he'd use that knowledge to his advantage. But he didn't want to trick or tempt this angel. Not really. He just liked Aziraphale. A lot. Crowley was increasingly suspicious he wasn't, in fact, a proper demon at all.</p><p>"Ruling out any actual interference," Crowley said, knowing he was digging himself deeper. "It makes sense, yeah? Business meetings?”</p><p>Aziraphale considered. </p><p>"I suppose it might," he said eventually with a touch of wistfulness. Crowley could work with that.</p><p>"I'll workshop it, angel."</p><p>Aziraphale, with a pleased gleam in his eye, reached across the table to Crowley and placed his warm and quite possibly moisturised hand over Crowley's own.</p><p>Crowley was resolved. He didn't care if it made him a terrible demon. If Aziraphale needed an excuse to be in a demon’s company and give Crowley the opportunity to hear his scathing opinions, to share knowing glances, to feel his gentle touch like this again, as often as possible, then so be it. </p><p>Crowley would find him one.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come visit me on <a href="https://mintly.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>, if you like! Thank you for reading!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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